I'm a crook (for stealing your heart away)
by MyVintageLove
Summary: "It was either you or Regina, so…" But his attempt at humour falls flat, the thought not there. When he finally glances at her, she's looking right in front of her, tight jaw and tensed muscles. His heart drops in his chest. "You really have no idea, do you?"


Hook sits on a rock at the edge of their camp, close enough to be in their sight but far enough to be alone. She knows, because she would have done the same had he not done it first. Part of her wants to push him and claim the rock as her own, just for the sack of taking a break from her parents, from Neal, from everything. But she doesn't, only staring at him from afar as David sits next to her and rubs her back with the palm of his hand. It's strangely soothing, in ways she's not used to, reminders of a picture in a fairytale book, a man holding a baby in one hand and a sword in the other. He kisses her on the temple and, if only for a second, Emma believes everything will be all right.

But, ultimately, her eyes dart back to the pirate who hasn't moved from his improvised throne. She's still mad at him – at the both of them – yet her eyes are drawn to him, his words still floating in her mind. She doesn't miss how her father sighs, his breath against her hair. "Go talk to him," he says, almost too softly and she wonders when exactly Captain Hook managed to wrap Prince Charming around his little finger. Probably at the same moment he managed to save his life. Urg, dudes.

Still she stands up, ignores Neal trying to do the same only to be stopped by a glare from her father, and softly makes her way toward Hook. He barely flinches as she sits next to him, barely even acknowledges her presence, but his breath catches in his throat and his whole body seems turned to stone. She's not exactly sure she likes having that effect on him. They remain silent for a while, his little finger absent-mindedly brushing against hers. Emma isn't used to marks of affection, has never been one for cuddling and touching, but she doesn't mind as much as she thought she would. She doesn't mind the fatherly affections from David, doesn't mind Hook invading her private space, and wonders when it happened, when she became someone who lets people in. When they managed to break her walls, to get rid of the shell she built years ago.

"Why?" she asks, voice soft, and he finally looks at her. "Why me?"

She hates this – this _thing_ going on between them where she doesn't have to elaborate for him to understand the meaning behind her words, for him to read between the lines. It's disconcerting and frightening, how easily he understands her, how they can communicate with a look, as if they've known each other forever.

He scoffs lightly. "It was either you or Regina, so…" But his attempt at humour falls flat, the thought not there. When he finally glances at her, she's looking right in front of her, tight jaw and tensed muscles. His heart drops in his chest. "You really have no idea, do you?"

She doesn't reply straight away, which is a reply in itself, but surprises him by a little shake of the head after a few seconds. He sighs heavily, his fingers intertwining with hers, because how could she not know, how could this fabulous maddening woman _not know_? He doesn't have to glance behind them for the answer to pop in his mind, doesn't have to glance at the three people behind him to know they're somewhat responsible for that self-confidence she's lacking. He knows an orphan when he sees one, he had told her long ago, knows all about rejection and abandonment. So he wants to take her by the shoulders, to look her in the eyes and convince her that she's perfect in every way, and maybe it was not her parents' fault but Neal was wrong wrong _wrong_.

He can't. Not today, not after making an ass of himself in front of her like the teenager he hasn't been in centuries. He can't afford to scare her off, not after promising that nothing will happen until they find her lad. It's killing him inside, the power his words have on her but not being able to use them, not being able to comfort her when she needs it. All he wants is to take her in his arms, to tuck her head under his chin and never to let her go, not until she realises that people care about her, that she's loved, that he will never do to her what Neal did. That he will never leave her, will always be by her side. He loves her, damn, and that's not enough. That'll probably never been enough.

It's only when Emma glances at him from the corner of her eyes that he realises he's been silent for a while and that, indeed, she's waiting for an answer. Waiting for a logical explanation, for it to make sense. "I don't know, love. I wish I had an answer for you but I really don't know. It just happened."

It's her hair, so long, so tempting, like he wants to spend hours, days, just running his fingers through it. It's her eyes, piercing holes in his soul every time she looks at him, reading him like an open book. It's her lips, so soft, her smile, so breathtaking. It's that maddening personality, and he equality wants to hate her and to worship her for standing up to him, for challenging him. It's how she's not afraid to yell at him, to be angry with him, to hurt his feelings. It's her and the lad, how much she loves him, how much she loves her family, and he wants that, all of that, all of _her_. He can't tell her that, can't even begin to explain that.

"I've never had someone so stubbornly staying by my side." Her walls shatter around her, all at once, and she folds her arms against her chest as to protect herself from the outside world. All he wants is to wrap his arms around her, to be her shield, her anchor. He can't. Not now.

"You'll have to get used to it, darling. I'm not going anywhere."

She finally turns her head to look at him, a tentative smile on her lips and, even for a few seconds, he loses himself in her eyes. She looks scared, confused, like she can't quite comprehend how someone would want that, would willingly stuck by her side when everybody else left. Would want her.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." He brushes his knuckles against her cheek, offers her a smile of his own. "Now go back to your father if you'll be so kind. I can almost hear him fuming and I'd rather not have him kill me on that bloody island."

It has at least the merit of making her laugh, no matter how weak the chuckle is. "I'll stay here for a little longer if you don't mind."

"As you wish."


End file.
